DiNozzos Don't 'Journal'
by shywr1ter
Summary: However, there are lots of memories, rants, thoughts, hopes and hurts and many, many questions mixed in with all the movie quotes zipping around in that head.  Here, in no particular order, are some of them.  General for now from a TIVA-inclined mind
1. NON Chapter 1: A Choice, the Rules

**Disclaimer: NCIS is the property of their respective creators and/or those taking from them. No profits realized.**

**_DiNozzos Don't Journal_**

It wasn't like they hadn't had a million things to do, and it was bad enough they had to hold off grieving for a lost team member – the loss of _Kate_ – but not three days after her death, the new Director demanded they all see an Agency pshrink to be sure they were past her loss. Director Morrow was old school enough to bristle even when the regs demanded that they see someone after a shooting, and Gibbs was more so, so DiNozzo had managed to dodge that bullet since coming to NCIS.

Well, at least after the qualifying interview, he had. He still wondered if they did that to everyone, or if they saw something in him that made them think an impromptu psych eval was warranted, or if it was just another way Gibbs was screwing with him.

But what the hell had Jenny been thinking anyway, barely into the job, to want them to take time away from the investigation, first off, and second, to think that the loss of someone like _Kate_ was something they could even begin to process just three days in? At least they'd won that round; Gibbs had an 'in' with her and managed to get her to postpone the order for a couple weeks, then a couple more, but after six weeks they'd all had to go check in with psych services.

In hindsight, Tony often wondered if Jenny just might have had something there, given Gibbs' obsession with Ari Haswari. Of course, either it didn't take at all with Gibbs, or ... had the therapist made even a little headway with Gibbs? Tony shuddered to think how the obsession could possibly have been _worse_...

In general, DiNozzo prided himself on being able to play just about anyone's game, including an agency drone's psychological mining, so he was embarrassed more at his own failing than any rudeness involved. But when he heard the therapist's suggestion, it was so outlandish that he let loose with a sudden, barked laugh that made the poor woman jump, literally coming halfway out of her chair:

"You know, one way to manage the sort of stress and emotional battering your job can involve is to _journal_..."

Oh, God, that was outstanding! _"Journaling..."_ oh, yeah, right; a DiNozzo, '_journaling?" _(And after all this time he still refused to believe it was actually a verb.) The only thing funnier than that thought – of _him, _'journaling' – was the thought (and his secret, guilty wish) that she dared to suggest it to Gibbs as well. Just the idea, and the accompanying images, had him snickering long after the session.

"_Dear Diary..."_ Oh, yeah, that was DiNozzo. And Gibbs. It made him grin on some of the darkest days.

Yeah, "journaling." Like it would happen. With any of them.

Of course ... sometimes, when he was alone at home after a particularly bad case, or sometimes when alone for hours on a stakeout, more when he was a cop than now, but still sometimes, when alone or now, if he was with Gibbs when his Boss demanded some quiet "for a change" ... yeah, his mind would get locked round and round in the "what ifs," for a whole lot of things. He'd wonder about countless events, if what he'd done might have been done better, or if people they'd lost – in a case; in his life – could have been saved with a different plan or approach. He'd wonder what it would be like now if Kate were still alive, but then wonder guiltily if that would have meant he'd never have met Ziva.

... and then he'd just fantasize about those two together, and wonder if he could have managed to find a way to get those two highly trained women in a mud-wrestling match...

So who needed journaling?

This time, Tony glanced over at his probie as they hit hour four of their stakeout, as the McGigabyte was making some adjustments he'd been asked to make in the electronic surveillance gismos, in preparation for this last handful of hours left on the assignment. Even after all this time, the downtime in a long stakeout inevitably reminded DiNozzo of the journaling suggestion, probably because it was about the only time he was awake when he wasn't focused on whatever case Gibbs had them chasing, or focused on whatever he was doing _– or whomever he was doing, _he played to himself – to forget about work.

As he watched Tim work, Tony smirked silently. Now _there_ was a Special Agent _made_ for journaling, DiNozzo mused. Hell, that was about all McGee had done to become a hot shot famous author, wasn't it? Maybe Probie journaled too; if he liked writing so much, it might be a good way for him to let off steam, if it wasn't already exactly what he'd done to end up with his best-selling versions of the team. What _would_ a guy like Tim get out of it? Tony wasn't always crazy about where his thoughts went when they were let loose to go back over everything, and the idea of writing them down sounded even worse, but he was willing to bet it would help Tim get things off his chest.

And clearly did more than that for McGee, the writing thing, and after DiNozzo had gotten an eyeful of just how famous 'Thom E Gemcity' was and the favors it got him...

_Yeah. There's a moment for the journal, DiNozzo. Mr. Gemcity got the girls and attention, and John caught a bullet in the chest..._

DiNozzo's private smile faded. Once again he remembered just why journaling was apt to be more painful than cathartic for him – too many of his memories were painful ones.

Still ... he had to admit, he had an interesting collection of random memories, over the years ...

Too bad he didn't journal.

**NON-Chapter 1 _(or what Tony thought might be his first installment, if he did journal)_**

**A choice; the Rules**

It had all happened pretty fast, and when he was about as low as he'd ever been: it was when their case was moving along faster than usual because a Federal agency got involved, maybe even more so because of the particular Fed who got involved. After all, it wasn't like the FBI ever moved the Department's cases faster on those rarified days when they decided to show up, they just horned in and poached the best cases from real cops who didn't get to cherry pick their cases. No, this agency – _this Fed_ – got him ballistics and BOLO hits and warrants faster than his overburdened Department ever could, and suddenly in all the rush and hurry there was a collar, and DiNozzo saw _that_ _look_ from the perp to his partner and suddenly, it was as if everything ground down to freeze frame on the images...

_They were connected. Somehow, some way; he didn't know details yet but Tony's gut knew something was off, and it was off __**bad...**_

The first forty-eight afterward, for someone who knew deep down, right away, that he had no choice – DiNozzo couldn't decide what to do. Then, once he faced the fact that he was going to do what he had to do – this was _Danny_, his _partner_, for God's sake – he knew he couldn't go back to BPD, because ... Because. It was his _partner._ He'd never seen it ... and Danny had never said a word.

He wanted to think he didn't know which was worse, but he did. It was the twist of the knife he'd felt in his gut since that moment he saw the partners – Danny and his _other_ partner – connect. So he called in a family emergency leave and took another twenty-four to decide what to do, even then knowing he didn't really have a choice.

And somewhere in the first eighteen of that twenty-four, Gibbs called him to tell him he was needed at NCIS. The Fed never said why, and in the circumstances, in his mood, Tony didn't even ask why, just got in his car and drove until suddenly he was being ushered through security, clearly expected, to emerge from the elevator into the blinding orange glare they used as a squad room. He'd wonder later if Gibbs just _knew_ or actually called his precinct, looking for him – and he'd also wonder later if it was the orange glare that wrecked his Boss's sniper-vision. But on that day, with everything else that had happened – it seemed as sensible as anything else to have armed Federal agents penned up in a neon box.

But Gibbs was there to meet him, and in the next two minutes Tony had managed to confess that he was allowing his partner to skate on who knew how many felony counts instead of ratting him out, to be smacked upside the head not for doing that but for suggesting things might be better for everyone if he wasn't a cop, and to be pushed headlong into a job application. In the next two hours, he'd not only filled out an application and had a quick interview with someone vaguely HR and someone even more vaguely mental health screener (and had made dates with both of the lovely women handling those processes) but he'd met with the Director himself for what was the oddest interview he'd ever had.

The man introduced himself, gave him a two-sentence rundown of the agency and the job, then made him an offer – a Special Agent offer. Tony must have telegraphed his reaction, because the Director just sort of grinned knowingly and shrugged, "Gibbs says we want you. I've learned to trust his judgment on that kind of thing." Director Morrow offered to answer any questions Tony had, which of course were none, given he hadn't even been close to expecting such an interview that afternoon – but his next comment was something that snapped DiNozzo back from the daze left by his whirlwind afternoon.

"Detective DiNozzo – Special Agent Gibbs is a fine agent, one of our very best, please don't misunderstand what I'm going to say. But he can be ... unconventional. Demanding, certainly."

Tony's knee-jerk response, a sudden grunt of laughter, broke the tension. "_There's_ a surprise."

The Director nodded in some concession, but defended his agent in explaining, "over the years he's worked with a partner, or alone, and has built a couple teams – and when things go well, it's not a problem, usually. But that ... _style_ ... doesn't work for everyone. I'm not offering you this job on the condition that you work with Gibbs, you understand that? If you'd rather see about another assignment ... or even another location ... I'll see what I can offer."

"All that on Gibbs' recommendation, based just on a few hours of watching me work a case?'

"Yes."

DiNozzo blinked. Yet another surprise.

Tony sat back, clearly rattled by events and now wondering just what all he'd gotten into – but feeling a small but undeniable flicker of excitement at the prospect. "I think I'd like to give it a shot, working with him," DiNozzo nodded slowly. "Call it a personal challenge."

"Glad to hear it," Morrow rose, extending his hand in a finalizing handshake. "But before we assign you formally – maybe you'd better discuss his Rules with him first."

DiNozzo shrugged his laugh this time. "There can't be that many; what, maybe five or six?" At the man's expression, Tony's grin faded a bit as his eyebrows raised. "A dozen?"

"I hear there are about fifty."

"Fifty?" DiNozzo gaped. "He publish a policy manual?"

Morrow chuckled as he crossed to the door to open it for the Detective, a clear sign of dismissal from the interview. "Not a bad idea."

"But, Director – "

"His team, his Rules. They usually work, so I don't get in the way."

"Even if they counter NCIS policy?" Tony cocked his head as he offered the mild challenge.

"So far that hasn't been an issue – and I just keep hoping that's true for the rest of them."

"So _you_ don't even know what all of them are?" DiNozzo was getting more and less enlightened with each statement, all at once.

Morrow smiled again as he turned to go back in his office. "Sometimes I think even he doesn't know them all yet."

DiNozzo found himself standing in the Director's waiting room with the Director's sympathetic looking assistant and an again-closed door where the Director stood a moment ago, and in his awkwardness Tony turned offer a bit of the old DiNozzo charm, needing the moment to regroup. But before he could introduce himself to the lovely woman at the desk, a tall form stood up silently from his chair in the corner, across from the assistant.

DiNozzo turned at the movement and said, fairly stupidly he'd think later, "Gibbs." His 'answer' was a silent tip of the chin and a raised eyebrow – both artfully understated. Tony lifted his own chin to challenge, "so what's with these 'Rules' of yours?"

Gibbs' expression didn't change – well, not much, only a subtlety that only a streetwise detective might catch, the tiny quirk of the lips and – damn it, that _was_ a slight glimmer in his eye as he spoke. "You got a problem with rules, DiNozzo?"

"Not the ones I know about. No, wait – not the ones that I know about _and_ are within some level of reason."

At that, Gibbs' quirk became a smirk, and he silently turned to walk out of the Director's office. Blinking in another abrupt surprise, and not knowing if he'd just been fired as quickly as he'd been hired, Tony turned to the still lovely assistant, opening his mouth to plead his case, when suddenly another quick smack landed on the back of his head.

"Hey!" He spun around quickly to see the man's icy blue eyes glaring nearly nose to nose with him. "How did you...?"

"I don't have time to wait around up here all day for you, DiNozzo." Again Gibbs turned and strode out of the office, but his voice carried back to them. "You comin' or what?"

This time when Tony looked at the Lovely Assistant, his grin was wide with delight. "On your six ... Boss!" he called as he jogged out the door and into the bright orange neon that was now _his_, too.

And at the moment, he thought that orange just might be his favorite color.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** If you made it this far, yes, I confess: this is just a set-up to allow me to throw in my random Tony thoughts, in random sequence and random postings ... these days I'm finding very limited time for more meaty fic-writing, but once in a while have to cave in to the craving to write a bit, So Im hoping this will let me vent my Tony urges. This is a bit different than what I've tried before so if you like, hate or couldn't care less, I would love to know!


	2. NON Chapter 2:  Triage

_Disclaimer: NCIS & its characters borrowed; no profits realized. _

_**We all know that when Tony mentioned his phone reception's dead spot in his therapist's office, he wasn't getting PT on his knee.**_

**DiNozzos Don't Journal**

NON-Chapter 2

**Triage**

During the first couple sessions, Tony kept up a sort of mental, meta-analysis of what was going on, reminding himself that his body language and physical movements had to be telegraphing his discomfort with the whole process, and that if _he_ knew the signs, then the therapist sitting across from him would have his distress nailed, chapter and verse. It made him wonder then if _any_one was ever comfortable in a therapist's office, remembering interviews he'd seen with Woody Allen and Richard Lewis, who'd said they were in therapy for years, decades even, and DiNozzo figured that they must have gotten sort of comfortable to keep going for years, for _decades,_ but then neither of those guys seemed comfortable in general so maybe it was a reversing of what the usual patient would ...

"...Mr. DiNozzo?"

The soft voice interrupted his nervous, inner stream-of-consciousness rambling, and his eyes snapped up to the eyes of the seventy-something woman sitting beside her desk, turned toward him. Tony reflected how had he agonized over the choice between a male or female therapist, and definitely had leaned toward female, but didn't want to do this with someone hot, but thought it would be weird to choose a therapist just because she _wasn't_ hot, so...

"I see this is still uncomfortable for you. Did you make the list we talked about last time, the top three things that brought you here?"

Suddenly realizing he'd automatically raised his usual defenses, tossing around the typical verbal smokescreens, but _to himself_, Tony blinked a bit in surprise and focused on the patient expression across from him. _I wonder if they teach look that in 'therapist class,' _his mind wandered away with him again, until he mentally head-slapped it back. With a small frown, he nodded. "Yeah, but ... I don't know. I keep changing my mind."

"That's okay," she encouraged. "Anything in particular surface more often than the others?"

He frowned even deeper, and shook his head uncertainly. "Not really one ... _thing_ ... or person, or situation, or person..."

The warm eyes across from him sparked a bit with his repetition, but the psychologist waited, watching her patient silently as he sifted through his thoughts. Just as she started to draw a breath to speak again, his green eyes snapped back up to hers and, as they narrowed in a sudden assessment of her, he asked, warily, "you're not one of those therapists who expect your patients to ... _journal,_ are you, to keep all their thoughts in some diary?"

With a bit of a surprised reaction herself, the woman answered immediately with a smile, "no, not unless they indicate in some way that it would be helpful for them, or that they'd like to try it."

Tony watched the psychologist, still somewhat wary, though he hoped he hid most of it, and wondered that she hadn't asked the expected "why do you ask?" _Because she already knows she won't get a straight answer?_ He let his breath out slowly. _Maybe this wasn't such a good idea..._

"Tony," she said, slowly, "let me ask it this way. What you told me last week about your work, especially everything that happened over the last year ... and the little bit I know about your childhood and your medical history, here," she tapped his file, "even surviving the plague! Certainly you must know how extraordinary that is. Yet with everything you've had to face in your life, for the first time ever, you decided to seek therapy just ten days ago. So why now, Tony? What happened that brought you to therapy ... even at the risk of having to journal?"

It didn't quite break the tension, but Tony laughed softly at the offered reference. He didn't speak right away, but she remained silent too, willing to wait while he considered her question. He suspected she'd even be willing to wait through the rest of the hour and probably into the next session. So after some thought, DiNozzo drew a deep breath, blew it out slowly and softly ... and spoke.

"Everything, I guess. Things change, and not for the better. People hurt ... people change. When they hurt, no matter what I try, I can't help them. When things change, it's not good, but it's not really _bad,_ it's just ... off. And I can't get things back to where they were."

"Who are they, Tony?"

He hadn't been looking at her as he'd spoken, but her question brought him back, and as he seemed to weigh her question, not speaking, she spoke again, urging him to reflect on his words.

"When you were thinking of the people who were hurting, or changing – who was on your mind?"

His eyes lingered on hers for another moment and as they did, she could see that he'd answered the question for himself quickly. As his eyes fell away from hers, she waited for him to let her in on it. She noted that even this ready answer was difficult for him to discuss, as he shrugged then smiled toward the floor.

His voice suddenly sounded distant. "My team ... the people I work with. Ziva, the woman we rescued who I told you about ...Tim, the other agent who went in with me... She's hurting; he's changed ... she's changing. Our boss ..." Tony shrugged ... paused ... then went on, "...isn't fixing things..."

"You expected him to?"

"Well, yeah; he's _Gibbs_," Tony answered immediately, just as quickly realizing he'd said it as if that should be enough explanation. He amended, "yeah. He's fixed a lot of things, over the years. But this time ... it's as if he hasn't noticed that anything is off."

"Is it possible he _hasn't_ noticed?"

"No." He shook his head immediately, then hesitated. "Or..." For the first time in the sessions, DiNozzo looked unguarded, _young_ ... lost. "I don't know how he could miss it. Not if he's himself. And he's the only one who _hasn't_ changed..."

The therapist was quiet for several moments, watching as the younger man dwelled on the implications circling in his words, but she didn't let him go on for too long. "Tony ... I know you're aware, logically, that people change, sometimes forced by circumstances, sometimes just because people do. And you probably know that while change can be good, it isn't always..."

"But I ought to be able to do _something_, at least for someone like Ziva," he interrupted. "I know she can't be happy like she is now but she's insisting she's fine and has just shut us out."

The woman nodded, and watched again as he imagined scenes with the people in his thoughts for another several moments. "So if Gibbs hasn't changed, but Ziva and Tim _have_," she asked, "what about you?"

His initial response was surprise at the question, followed by a quick, guarded shrug, "I'm fine. I can go with the flow, however they want to end up. It's just..." He paused again, looking for how to express his concerns. "They may end up even more hurt, or worse, but they don't see it."

"And you, Tony? Landing on your feet, but unhappy? Maybe even alone again?"

The discerning green eyes were back, first searching for the source of her knowledge, but then quickly veiled, as she again heard the defensive laugh she'd heard so often during their first session. "Hell, wouldn't be the first time," DiNozzo said broadly. "Been there before, can do it again."

"But it's not what you want."

DiNozzo wavered, and almost grudgingly, tried a feint. "Look, if it was just the crack about journaling..." He glanced back up at the therapist and smirked, "pretty pathetic, huh?"

"Pretty _human_, Tony."

He considered that for a moment, then shrugged, "so that's it, then? I'm fixed? I'm just feeling sorry for myself so should suck it up?"

The expression that met his changed very little. "Tony, you know what's not what I said – and I know it's not what you heard."

The agent wavered, seemed to come to some sort of decision, and then, for the first time since he'd been there, sat back, relaxing more than he had since he'd first walked into her office the week before. At the moment, though, it looked more like defeat or concession than any level of comfort in the situation. He said nothing more, and also for the first time, it didn't look as if he was analyzing everything she said six ways. She spoke again to ease the moment for him.

"When people hurt ... it can take any number of forms," the psychologist offered softly, "and for a wide variety of reasons. Depending on the person, he can take a lot of punches, but over a long time, if there are a lot of body blows and no real healing ... sometimes a little first aid is needed."

DiNozzo didn't look up this time, but considered her words for long moments before finally nodding. He didn't speak right away, though, finding words difficult, and when he did speak his voice was soft. "But you won't make me journal, right?"

"Do you _want_ me to make you journal, Tony?"

He heard the amusement in her voice and looked up with a small smile of his own. "That's the only way I ever would."

"I believe you."

DiNozzo smirked a little as he nodded again. "Don't you want to hear about my crappy childhood?"

This time it was she who shrugged. "Up to you. If you think it's important."

"I thought all of you thought crappy childhoods were important."

She smiled again at his efforts to deflect, but before she could speak and direct the conversation back to his reasons for seeking therapy, his phone vibrated noisily. He pulled it from his pocket to glance at it briefly and said, "my boss. One of his rules, 'never be unreachable.'"

She nodded her understanding. "I think we've given you some things to think about for next time. If you decide to come again, of course. Just as we did last time, you can schedule another appointment on your way out or later, whatever you like."

"...because ... my schedule is pretty crazy ..."

"We'll play it by ear."

"But you think I should come back." It wasn't really a question.

The woman's smile was soft. " I think you could use some first aid."

DiNozzo looked at her, the woman's steady gaze meeting his best investigator's appraisal, and he finally shrugged and nodded, "yeah, I got that." He stood as she did, both of them knowing that Tony would book for the next week, and would be here for at least a few more sessions – maybe only until he could get through a whole session without having to avert his eyes, and without having to dissemble when answers were requested. But they knew that Tony would be there again.

"If you do schedule another session, I'd like you to think about what your concerns are for each of your teammates – nothing elaborate, just a few words – and then think about why _that's_ been more important to you than your own hurts or changes."

He stopped, looking back to her. "Oh, start with the easy stuff, huh?"

"You're a busy man and your time is valuable. I wanted to make your session worthwhile." His appraisal lingered another moment before he nodded and took another step toward the door. Sensing she hadn't quite closed the deal yet, the psychologist added, "and one of these days I want to know what you have against journaling."

She was rewarded with a dazzling grin of honest amusement. "'cos it's _lame?_" he fired back.

A delicate grey eyebrow lifted over a twinkling eye. "Or because things are more permanent, in writing? Or because having to sort through all the words for your uncomfortable feelings and reactions to get _just_ the right ones down makes it harder to just shove them all in a corner and ignore them?"

The green eyes veiled again, slightly, but she hadn't lost him yet – she'd figured out early on that this patient found it hard to walk away from a challenge. She watched as a slight smirk pulled at the amused smile. "_No_ – " he drawled. "Just lame."

He turned to leave her office, and the psychologist returned to her desk to make a few quick notes, tuck his file away, and pull out the file for her next appointment. As she went back to the doorway to call in her 7:30, she noticed that her 6:45 was still at the window, talking with the receptionist over their booking screen.

She smiled softly. She might just learn about his aversion to journaling after all...


End file.
